


Trial and Error

by Alsatian



Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Friends to Lovers, How to get disbarred 101, Legal Drama, Slow Burn, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-11-28 18:00:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20970707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alsatian/pseuds/Alsatian
Summary: After the streets of Gotham burned, Arthur Fleck was arrested and charged with an extensive list of felonies. While struggling to help him build a case in his defense, Arthur’s attorney is faced with a side of the man that he’s kept hidden for a long time.





	1. Se defendendo

“I saw the footage from the subway.”

Arthur remained silent, gazing listlessly at the wall. His hands, which he folded in his lap, were manacled and chained to the table. The greenish-yellow tint of the old light fixtures did him no justice; he looked almost sickly, and his posture suggested an odd mixture of boredom and defeat.

“I know what they did. I don’t blame you.”

Still no reaction.

“Arthur.”

“..._what_?” he breathed.

“I want to help you. I need you to work with me. I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.”

“What’s the point?” he drawled. “You and I both know that you won’t _really _listen to me, and neither will a jury. They’re just going to lock me up again and throw away the key.”

“Not if I can help it.”

He scoffed.

“Look, I know what happened. I know you did it to defend yourself. What they did to you was downright awful. If you just _work_ with me on this, I can get you off at least a few of the charges. Don’t you understand?”

A long sigh escaped his lips. He didn’t speak.

Frustrated, I closed my file and placed it back in my bag. Perhaps it was time to try a new angle.

“Can you at least tell me about yourself?” I pleaded. “If we’re going to be stuck together for your entire trial, I’d like to get to know the real you. Not the person they talk about on the news.”

He shifted his gaze and looked me in the eyes, the edges of his lips twitching upward. “Don’t _you_ understand?” he mocked. “That _is_ the real me.”

“Is it, now?”

Arthur leaned toward me, eyes sparkling with a new intensity. “People have finally noticed me. They _celebrate_ me. I’ve never felt more like myself than I do now.”

_He’s nuts. He’s absolutely and completely nuts. I can’t work with this. Not for my first case — God, this is how I’ll be remembered for the rest of my career. I’ll go down in Gotham history as the clown lawyer and I’ll never get a job again._

“Do you regret what you did?” I asked.

Arthur leaned his head back and laughed. “Why would I regret it? You saw the tapes — they deserved everything they got.”

“You chased a man through the subway and shot him dead,” I reminded him slowly. “You smothered your own mother in a hospital bed, stabbed a man in the eye with a pair of scissors and proceeded to beat him to death, and executed a man on live television.”

“I know,” he giggled. The pure, childlike bliss painted across his features would have been endearing if it weren’t for the subject of our conversation.

“I need you to take this seriously,” I said, crossing my arms. “We can go the self-defense route with the first two, but you need to be able to show the jury some semblance of remorse. I can’t have you sitting there smirking and giggling while some poor woman is crying on the stand talking about what she saw you do.”

“It’s not _my_ fault if the jury has a bad sense of humor.”

I sighed. “Here’s the deal. If you can’t give me something a jury can sympathize with, we’re going to have to make a deal with the prosecution. I’m in no mood to start out my career that way, but if that’s how it has to be, then that’s what we’ll do.”

I stood up and gathered my belongings from where they lay at my feet.

“We’ll meet this time next week. For now, just...think about what you can give me to work with.”


	2. Fumus boni iuris

“Good morning, Arthur.”

“Good morning to you as well, Counselor,” came my client’s cheery reply. He didn’t turn around to face me as I entered.

After the door shut behind me, I made my way to the opposite side of the room and took my seat. I placed my leather bag by my feet and dropped my ever-growing case file onto the table with a resounding thud. My client, it seemed, was chained to the table again today. I’d been warned repeatedly of the risk he posed, despite my position as his attorney. In our interactions so far, he hadn’t given me a reason for concern — in fact, he’d been polite, albeit unsettling — but the handcuffs were a constant reminder that set me on edge.

“You seem to be in awfully good mood today,” I observed.

He smiled cordially. “I haven’t had a reason not to be. Would you like to hear a joke?”

I raised my eyebrows and motioned for him to continue. “By all means.”

Arthur shifted in his chair before he began. “How do you get to the hospital quickly?”

“I don’t know. How?”

“Stand in the middle of the road for a while,” Arthur chuckled.

I cracked a small smile. It was somewhat morbid, but it was clever.

“Are those the kinds of jokes you usually tell?” I asked.

Arthur shrugged, gazing around the room. “Sometimes. I’ve always liked writing my own jokes. I try to figure out what my audience will like, but they don’t always react the way I’d hoped.”

“Do you think it’s because they’re bad jokes?”

“No, not necessarily,” he mused. “Humor is very subjective, Counselor. It depends entirely on your audience.”

“It’s funny you should mention that,” I remarked, looking through the brown file before me. “Audience and whatnot. We need to talk about how you’re going to present to a jury. We need sympathy. Did you put any consideration into what I asked you about last week?”

“Some. Do you have a cigarette?”

“I’m not giving you a cigarette,” I told him flatly. “Not until you help me do my job.”

He frowned.

“Look, we talked about this last time I was here. I can’t do this without you — that’s not how it works. You have to be a sympathetic figure, someone a jury can relate to, at least on some level. I can’t paint you that way for them if I don’t know anything about you.”

“You have a whole file on me, don’t you?”

“I need more than bare facts,” I maintained. “I need you to sit here and talk to me about your life so I can go into that courtroom and show people that you’re more than what they say about you on the news — that you’re _human_.”

He let out a humorless chuckle.

“Do you want to go to prison for the rest of your life?” I snapped. “Because that’s where you’re headed. What about Arkham? Do you want to end up there again?”

Arthur’s legs were bouncing nervously.

“You’ll be lucky if they send you to the chair,” I went on. “This whole city thinks you’re a monster! Do you honestly think —”

A sharp laugh escaped his lips. Arthur doubled over, covering his mouth with his hands.

“I’m trying to _help_ you, goddammit,” I insisted, leaning forward over the table. “How is this _funny_ to you?”

“It’s — I —”

I realized what was happening when he choked back a sob and continued to laugh. It was painful to watch.

“...take your time,” I said quietly. “You’re okay.”

As Arthur’s laughing fit continued, a guard walked up to the window, eyes wide with concern. I shook my head quickly to dismiss him, waving him away while Arthur was still occupied. The man raised his eyebrows as he walked away, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur managed. His eyes were watering. “I have —”

Another laugh forced itself from his throat.

“I know, it’s fine,” I muttered, leaning over to search my bag. “I read about it in your file. It’s okay. Just... take your time.”

As I fished through the front pockets of my bag for the cigarette pack and lighter that I knew I’d left there after my bar exam, I heard Arthur’s strangled breaths begin to even out.

“Here,” I offered, sitting up again. I nodded toward the crushed, barely empty pack of cigarettes in my hand. Arthur pulled a cigarette out with unsteady fingers, and I lit it for him before doing the same for myself. He took a long drag before speaking again.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. The ash of his cigarette fell onto the floor as his hand continued to shake.

“You don’t have to apologize,” I replied, pushing the yellowed ceramic ash tray over toward him. We sat in silence again before I continued.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing,” I admitted. “I shouldn’t have said all that. I’m sorry. I’m still trying to find my footing. I’m not quite sure what I’m doing yet.”

Arthur cleared his throat half-heartedly. He stared at the smoke floating up from his half-consumed cigarette, but he didn’t speak.

“I read through all your files,” I told him slowly, hoping to move on. “Did you really bring a gun to a children’s hospital?”

He took another drag off his cigarette and muttered something I didn’t quite hear.

“What?”

“I got _jumped_,” he repeated, just barely above a whisper.

“Both your employer and the police reported that you told them it was a prop.”

“One of the guys at work gave me the gun after some kids stole my sign and beat me up,” he explained slowly, holding his hand out with the near-finished cigarette between his fingers. “I tried to explain what happened, but my boss wouldn’t believe me. I kept the gun in case I needed to defend myself again... I told them it was a prop because I was scared.”

I sighed. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you. But you do realize that this makes you extremely untrustworthy, right?”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“You told your boss and the police one story, and now you’re coming forward with another,” I explained. “Even if this _is_ the truth, it shows that you’re willing to lie.”

“We all lie,” he muttered, crushing his cigarette out. “One way or another, we all lie. I just had a good reason to.”

“I haven’t lied to you, Arthur.”

He let out a mirthless laugh. “You lie every single day, Counselor. You’re lying to me right now. You lie when you get dressed in the morning, pretending for everyone that you’re a high-brow, ‘respectable citizen’ with a good job. You lie when you buy things you can’t afford with money you don’t have, just so you can lie to _yourself _and say you’re happy with your state in life. Everyone lies. This whole _society_ runs on lies. That’s the only way things get done. You’re no better than me, even though you lie to yourself about that, too.”

I wanted to respond, but I held my tongue. Our conversation wasn’t supposed to be about me, or society, or the suit I knew I’d paid too much for.

“I’ve tried to be honest with you, Arthur.”

“I’m not sure you have,” he retorted.

“I’ve tried my best to be honest with you,” I explained, “because I want this relationship to be built on trust. I want the jury to trust you, too, and if I can believe you, so can they. I’m extremely hesitant to put you on the stand because of the story you told the police, but I’m still considering it. It would give us a decent chance to clarify your side of the story, at least for the firearms charges.”

“I think those are the least of my concerns.”

Silence fell over us again. I didn’t know what to say next. I had my work cut out for me — the prosecutors had already provided me plenty of evidence to work with. Of course, I was going to try to get as much of it deemed inadmissible as I could, but I still had a sinking suspicion that I wasn’t going to win the case. The Public Defenders’ Office had stuck me on Arthur’s case all alone, and no one was eager to give me any advice. Everyone wants to help the new kid until they realize the new kid is the killer clown’s lawyer.

“I have to be honest with you, Arthur,” I began slowly. “I’m doing my best, but... I really don’t think we’re going to win this.”

He shrugged. “I never really expected to.”

“It’s why I’ve been so insistent about getting to know you better,” I explained. “I want to shoot for as lenient of a sentence as we can.”

Arthur began fiddling with the handcuffs around his wrists and sighed before he spoke. “Alright.”

“Alright what?”

“Alright, we can talk,” he clarified, locking eyes with me. “But I want to know about _you_.”

I swallowed and took a deep breath. “Well, what do you want to know?”

He looked up, thinking. “Why did you become a public defender?”

“Everyone wants to put criminals behind bars,” I answered, “but they always forget that real justice involves the criminal getting his day in court. Even the most hardened criminal has a right to explain his side of the story. I guess I wanted to do the dirty work that keeps the system working properly, I don’t know.”

I paused before continuing. “Why did you kill your mother?”

Arthur crossed his arms and gave me an icy stare. “You have my file. You know what she did.”

“I want to hear how you felt.”

He clenched his jaw. “I took such good care of her for all those years and _look what she did to me_,” he spat. “My mother could never admit that she did something wrong. She made me what I am, and she lied about it every minute of my entire life.”

My heart sank as I recalled the news reports about Arthur as a child. The beatings, the neglect, the torture and abuse... his mother had serious problems of her own, but they were no excuse for what she’d done to her own son.

“She was awful,” Arthur murmured, “and I never even knew it.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that. We don’t have to talk about her anymore, not unless you want to.”

Lifeless eyes trained on the wall behind me, he spoke again. “How do people treat you now that you’re working with me?”

I didn’t like how that sounded, not one bit. _Working with him_. The very thought sickened me, tied my stomach in knots, and I could have sworn my heart skipped a beat.

“I’ve developed a bit of a reputation,” I answered. He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m the newest hire at the office and I’m already a leper. I think they stuck me on this case because no one else wants to deal with you,” I confessed. “No one pays any attention to me once they find out I’m your attorney. My parents found out from the news that I’m working on your case, and now they won’t even answer my calls. You’ve scared this whole city. Everyone I know is terrified of you.”

Arthur looked up, gazing into my eyes. “Are _you_ terrified of me?”

I hesitated.

“I... honestly don’t know,” I confessed, looking away.

“I don’t want you to be,” he said matter-of-factly.

I couldn’t honestly say that I disagreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Broke: studying law to become a lawyer  
Woke: studying law for fun  
Bespoke: studying law to write better fanfic
> 
> Speaking of, please do let me know if I screw any of the legal stuff up. That being said, thank you all very much for reading!


	3. Actus reus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's commented on my previous chapters!  
Now, I'm not sure if I like this chapter very much, so please have mercy on me for this, lmao

“Mornin’, ma’am. Here for a visit?” asked one of the two guards at the front desk as I entered the building. They were walled off from the rest of the room by metal grating, not unlike a ticket counter at the movie theater.

My meeting with Arthur was on a different day this week than our previous two, so I hadn’t seen this guard before. He was balding and quite overweight, but he had a friendly look about him. The second guard had his back to me; he was much thinner and darker skinned, and he appeared to be occupied with paperwork of some sort.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” I replied, addressing both men behind the counter. The one with his back to me nodded toward me in polite acknowledgement before turning back to his work.

“I’m just here for a meeting with my client,” I explained. “Usually I come on Tuesdays, but I had to reschedule earlier this week.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” remarked the fatter guard. “I was wondering what a young thing like you was comin’ in here all dolled up for.”

I raised an eyebrow as he slid a clipboard under the metal grating.

“Oh, I don’t mean to offend,” he insisted, “I was just confused, ‘s all. We don’t get many lady lawyers in here. Usually it’s just the crazy-eyed types that decide they’re gonna marry some killer they read about in the papers.”

“Well, I’m certainly not one of those, I can assure you,” I said dryly, filling out the sign-in sheet. The pen’s ink was fading, and I had to rewrite some of the letters before sliding it back.

“And if I could just get a look at your ID,” the guard said. I pulled my wallet out of my leather bag and slid the identification card to him.

“Pleasure to meet you, Ann,” he mused, reading my name off the scratched plastic.

“I don’t use my first name.”

He narrowed his eyes, examining the photo closely. “Hey, now... you’re that Joker guy’s lawyer, ain’t you?”

The skinny guard behind him stopped what he was doing and turned around to look at me, mouth slightly agape.

“I was assigned to Arthur Fleck’s case,” I said flatly. This same scene had played out several times a day for the past few weeks, and I was getting sick of it.

“Yeah, I saw you on the news,” said the skinny guard, pointing his finger at me.

“You’re not _really_ gonna help him, are you?” the first guard asked in a low voice. He put my ID on the desk and slid it halfway to me, stopping under the metal grating.

“I’m going to do my damn job,” I grunted, yanking the card out from under his stubby fingers.

The man leaned forward. “Pretty little thing like you ought t’ be careful,” he said darkly. “Plenty of folks want to see that freak get the chair. You’d best not get in the way.”

I grit my teeth and picked up my bag. A loud buzz signaled the door to the interior of the building was unlocked, and I marched inside without speaking another word.

I made my way down the hall and stopped at another guard, this time seated at a regular office-style desk. I’d seen him the first day I’d come to meet with Arthur; he’d recognized me from the news, too. The man raised a thick, black eyebrow at me as I approached.

“Rough morning, Miss Martin?” he asked.

“You could say that,” I grumbled. “I’m not sure if I’m being sexualized or threatened, or both.”

The guard laughed good-naturedly as he dragged a finger down the paper in front of him, scanning for my name. “Looks like you’re all the way at the end. Left-hand side.”

“Thanks,” I replied and set off down the hall.

Suddenly I stopped and spun around. “David, right?”

He nodded, watching curiously as I walked back over to his desk.

“I need a favor,” I told him with a false air of confidence. “You’ve had my client handcuffed during each of our meetings so far, and I’d like that changed.”

The guard scratched his head. “Wait, so... you want to be alone with that guy while he’s _not_ restrained?”

“I’d like to have my client’s handcuffs removed, yes.”

He hesitated. “I’m not so sure we can do that. Like I told you before, it’s for your safety.”

I looked down either end of the hall. It was empty.

“Fifty if you get those cuffs off him,” I offered quietly.

He didn’t respond for a moment and my stomach turned. Leave it to me to pick out the only honest guard in the whole prison the first time I try my hand at bribery.

“Two hundred,” he finally countered, crossing his arms. My eyes widened.

“Two hundred,” I scoffed, “and you make sure it happens in the future.” I sounded far more at ease than I felt.

“Fine,” he grunted. “Meet me at the café on Morris and McClellan tonight at 8. We’ll call it a date.” Flashing me a fake smile, he pushed his chair back and stood up. “You wait here.”

I did as I was told, watching him as he walked to the end of the hallway and entered the room on the left. I was suddenly starting to feel light-headed, and I leaned up against the wall, focusing on a stain on the ceiling and breathing deeply. Everything started to spin. My leather bag slid from my fingers and hit the floor with a thud.

_What have I done?_

I didn’t quite know why I did it. I’d hoped to show some sort of kindness, get him to open up to me a little bit more, but there was something in me that just couldn’t handle walking in there again and seeing him chained up like that.

“He’s all yours,” came the guard’s voice, pulling me back out of my thoughts. I scrambled to pick up my things and made my way down the hall. He held open the door for me as I approached.

“Good luck,” he sang. When I entered the room, he closed the door loudly behind me, nearly hitting me on the back. I shut my eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and let the air out through my nose slowly.

“Don’t ask,” I muttered with a scowl.

“Did you —"

“I said don’t ask.”

“I didn’t think you had it in you.”

I opened my eyes and made my way over to the table. Arthur sat casually, one ankle placed on the opposite knee, and propped his head up with one hand.

“Had what in me?” I inquired, placing my hands on the desk and leaning toward him. “What could you possibly know about me?”

“Friedman and I chat,” he lilted.

“Friedman?”

“The guard you just paid.”

“I didn’t just —”

Arthur scoffed dramatically. “I thought we talked about _lying_, Counselor.”

I kicked my chair back and sat down with a huff. “I’m not talking about this,” I maintained.

“I distinctly recall you lecturing me about “real justice” just a few days ago,” he said, tapping his chin. “Stress getting to you already?”

“You’re staring down six counts of first degree murder,” I reminded him. “Looks to me like you’re in a pretty bad position to lecture your own lawyer about morals, don’t you think?”

“I think,” he replied with a grin, “you’ll fit in just fine here in Gotham, Counselor.”

“_I think_,” I stressed, “you have an arraignment in two days. We need to talk about that.”

Arthur crossed his arms, frowning. “I’ve already told you I’m not making a deal.”

I let out a weary sigh. “We both know there’s no way you’re skipping out on prison. The District Attorney called me personally to guarantee that you’ll get a chance at parole if you plead guilty.”

“I’m _not_ making a deal,” he repeated, shaking his head.

“Why the hell not?”

“I’m starting to enjoy our time together,” Arthur said simply.

“That’s not a reason to plead not guilty!” I exclaimed. “You're going to throw your life away.”

He couldn’t possibly be serious. I wanted to strangle him.

“I don’t think I want this to be over so soon. I like your spirit,” he explained. Arthur’s eyes sparkled as he cracked a smile. “I think I’d enjoy working with you in the future. Call this a _trial_ run.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or not, but I did — and a genuine, full-fledged laugh at that. I hated to admit it, but he was right: the stress was starting to get to me. This case was a burden I was forced to carry alone. 

Wiping tears from my eyes, I tried to compose myself again. “You know,” I said, chuckling bitterly under my breath, “you’re just about the only person I talk to anymore. I don’t know if it’s pathetic or hilarious, but I never thought I’d look forward to sitting alone in a room with a murderer every week.”

He froze, and I instantly regretted what I’d just said. I was about to start backtracking when Arthur spoke.

“You look forward to seeing me?”

My mind scrambled for a justification. I was tired. I was exhausted. I was completely and totally drained. I was frustrated and scared and alone. People stared at me everywhere I went, and they all had something to say. It was rarely anything kind, and I could feel myself starting to crack under the public pressure to serve my client up on a silver platter for the prosecution. I’d become a pariah in this festering wound of a city, and the only person who seemed to want anything to do with me was a mentally unstable man I wasn’t ready to defend in court.

On top of that, I’d spent entire days pouring over his life story in newspaper clippings, video footage, medical documents — you name it, I’d read it. After having to learn so much about him, each meeting almost felt like a coffee date with a long-lost friend.

_And God, if he didn’t have a lovely smile._

“I’m just trying to do my job, Arthur,” I replied. It was all I could manage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me! Any questions, comments, concerns, or things you'd like to see — feel free to comment or message me on Tumblr at artyfleck.


	4. Res publica

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To write is to suffer. Whoever gave me Microsoft Word should be promptly arrested.

The smell of car exhaust and garbage hit me as soon as I stepped off the bus.

The diner I was supposed to meet the guard at was only about a block away, but the air swirling through the streets signaled that rain was imminent. I had no idea what to expect from this meeting, so I wanted to arrive early. At the very least, I didn’t want to be caught in the storm with all my files in my leather bag.

I was having a hard time getting Arthur’s case out of my head. I couldn’t believe I was going along with his request not to make a plea deal. Somewhere in my mind, I was uncomfortable with the thought of him spending the rest of his life in jail. Legally, practically, I knew it would be the “right” thing — but I pitied him, and I resented myself for it. A small part of me hoped I would see his face when a _not guilty_ verdict was read, and it hurt to realize that would never happen. I told myself the ache in my chest was from thinking about my inevitably doomed career after losing the case.

I was close to my destination now. The neon lights of the diner lit up half the street, and as I approached, I noticed the smell of frying oil wafting through the air.

A bell chimed brightly above my head as I opened the door.

_Please seat yourselves_, read a sign in the entryway. There were a few customers along the bar area and a few by the windows on the right in booths, but the diner was mostly empty. Everyone spoke in hushed tones.

My shoes were painfully loud against the black and white tile floor as I walked to the end of the row of booths to the left. I chose a seat facing the door, as far from the entrance as I could get.

Soon enough, a waitress came by the table. She was older, probably in her mid-50s, and had a weary look about her despite her kind demeanor.

“What can I get for you, darling?” she asked.

“Just a coffee, please,” I requested. “No cream, no sugar.”

“Coming right up. Long day?” she inquired with a kind smile.

“You could say that,” I replied, scratching my cheek.

“I’ll go ahead and bring you that coffee,” the waitress told me. “Just let me know if there’s anything else I can get for you.”

It had now begun to rain outside, and the dark street looked like wet tar under the gleam of the street lights. Drops of water slowly ran down the window.

The bells on the diner door chimed as a man entered, soaking wet from the rain. When he took off his hood, I saw that it was the guard I was supposed to meet. I nervously fingered the envelope of cash hidden in my purse as he walked over to the booth.

“I see you managed to stay dry on your way here,” he commented, taking off his jacket and placing it on the seat. His clothes underneath were still relatively dry, and he sat down across from me, brushing off his shirt.

“I got here a few minutes before you did,” I said simply. “It hadn’t started raining yet.”

“You know, I don’t think we’ve had proper introductions yet. David Friedman,” he introduced.

“Winter Martin,” I replied, shaking his hand stiffly.

“I believe you were bringing something for me.”

As I was reaching into my purse for the envelope, the waitress returned with my coffee. I nearly knocked everything onto the floor trying to take my hand out of the bag.

“Here you are,” the waitress said, placing the cup in front of me as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

“Thank you,” I managed to choke out.

“Anything for you, dear?” she asked David pleasantly.

“Just a coffee for me, if you wouldn’t mind,” he requested. “Thanks, Peggy.”

She smiled and left us again, and I hurriedly reached into my purse again for the envelope of cash.

“Keep it,” David ordered. I paused, brows furrowed in confusion.

“I said you can keep the money,” he repeated. “There’s another favor I need from you.”

“What do you want?” I asked suspiciously, closing my bag. I slid my coffee cup toward me with both hands.

“Well, it’s not so much a favor as a request,” he clarified. “I wanted to talk to you about this whole thing with the Joker.”

“I’m not going to talk about an ongoing case.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “No, no, I know that. I want to talk about _him_.”

“I’m not going to talk about my client while—”

“Jesus, Martin, will you just listen to me? You need to get him off those charges however you can.”

I blinked.

“One more coffee for you, dear,” came the voice of our waitress as she returned to our corner of the diner. “There’s cream and sugar for you on the table if you want any.”

“Thanks, Peggy, you’re a doll,” David said. He took the steaming hot cup from her with both hands and gingerly set it on the table, wincing at the heat.

I watched the woman return to the other side of the restaurant before I spoke again.

“What are you trying to insinuate here?” I demanded in a low voice.

“Nothing you haven’t already done.”

I wanted to tell him that whatever he was suggesting, I wouldn’t do it, but I’d given up any moral high ground earlier today when I’d offered him a bribe.

“This Joker guy, he means something to a lot of people in this city,” David stressed. “Beyond that, do you know what it would do if he gets thrown in jail? Or even worse, if they kill him? There’ll be riots out here for months.”

“I don’t mean to disappoint, but I’m not here on some moral crusade,” I told him. “I want to get this case over with and move on with my life.”

David shook his head. “You don’t have that luxury anymore, Martin. You’re a public figure now, whether you want it or not. Whatever you do, it’s going to mean something to people out there. This case matters.”

“I didn’t sign up for this,” I lamented, putting my head in my hands.

“Yeah, you did,” David countered. “What, did you think you were going to be defending saints in this job? You can’t honestly sit there and tell me you didn’t know what you were getting into. You signed up to be a public defender in Gotham, and now that you’re getting some dirty looks on the subway, you want to back out.”

“That’s not it,” I muttered.

David took a loud sip of his coffee.

“I don’t want to be a hero,” I insisted. “I don’t want the whole world watching me. I don’t... I don’t even know what I’m doing. Everyone talks about me like _I’m_ the murderer when I’m just playing my part in a legal proceeding, and they hate me for it.”

“Did you ever bother to think that some people might look up to you?”

I sighed.

“You’re probably the only attorney in this city who wouldn’t hand him straight over to the prosecution,” David reminded me. “You’re idealistic. You defend him because you know someone has to. The people you look straight through on your way to work, the ones that just seem like part of the scenery — they all idolize you. Not only are you defending a figure they support, but you’re showing them that there’s still people in this system who would treat them fairly. You’re the symbol of real, even-handed justice in Gotham.”

I looked up from my half-empty cup. “I don’t want to be a symbol.”

“It’s way too late for that now, Martin.”

* * *

I got home especially late that night, and I stayed up even later.

My small apartment was usually quite neat. Tonight, though, papers and books littered the kitchen table. I sat hunched over my notepad, biting the inside of my lip as I agonized over my research. Several files were precariously stacked across from me on the only other chair at the table. The clock on the wall read just past 2:30. My head had begun to hurt shortly after I’d left the diner, and now it felt like my skull was being slowly crushed in a vice.

I had one day before Arthur’s arraignment — it usually would have occurred only a day or two after his arrest, but it had been almost three weeks already. The entire legal system had slowed to a crawl in response to all the rioting, and the jails were overflowing. The arraignment would be an absolute circus.

Reluctantly admitting that I wasn’t going to get much more productive work done, I tossed my pen down onto the table and shuffled off to my bedroom. My body ached.

As I laid in bed, cold sheets wrapped tightly around my body, an overwhelming sense of loneliness crept up on me. My feet were tangled in a soft blanket underneath the sheets, but I didn’t feel cozy. My small apartment was cold and empty, and I was insignificant and alone. I briefly wondered how Arthur felt in his cell at night, and my heart sank.

I wrapped my arms around an extra pillow and pulled it close to my chest.

“It’s okay,” I whispered into the darkness, pressing my lips to the fabric. “It’s gonna be okay.”

A lump began to build up in my throat, and my eyes burned with tears.

“_Fuck_,” I sobbed, pressing my face into the pillow. “I can’t do this, Arthur, I’m so sorry.”


End file.
